


History/Entertainment/Sports and Leisure

by De_Nugis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Riding, Sexual Dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 19:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14339031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/De_Nugis/pseuds/De_Nugis
Summary: Sam and Cas are trapped in the Bunker. How will they pass the time?





	History/Entertainment/Sports and Leisure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verucasalt123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/gifts).



> Pinch-hit for the 2018 spnspringfling.
> 
> Thanks to [themegalosaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus) for the beta.
> 
> Set a bit before the beginning of s10.
> 
> See end of work for fuller info on the tagged content.

“I didn’t know human invention could do this,” says Cas.

“The question is, can we undo this? Can you?” Trying to shake Cas back to full power would be counterproductive. Sam tugs at the lever instead. It doesn’t budge. It hadn’t for Cas, either, and Cas, whatever is up with him, is still stronger than Sam.

“I’d guess not,” says Cas. “These things run a course. Congratulations. You’ve exercised the power of archangels.”

Sam elects to ignore the ways that might allude to his history.

“With one hand tied behind my back,” he says sourly, instead. He slides to the floor — struggling with the lever, even with his good hand, has done a number his injured shoulder; he’s clammy with sweat — and leans back. Cas wisely refrains from noting that Sam’s arm is more strapped in front of him.

“Why did you pull a lever whose effects you didn’t know?”

Why didn’t the Men of Letters signpost it? Sam thinks. _Warning: throws Bunker out of time into pocket universe._

“I thought it opened a door,” he says. He can’t convey to Cas that the answer has got to be there: next call, next undiscovered storeroom, under the skin of the next demon host.

“Closing one would be a closer analogy. And locking it. This must be an emergency defense. An inadequately labeled one.”

Well, it’s nice that Cas thinks that, too. 

“So what do we do?” Sam says.

Cas also sits on the floor. He looks how Sam feels.

“We wait,” he says. “The cycle is probably twenty-four hours. This isn’t a major problem. Perhaps you should think of it as a brief vacation.”

“A staycation,” Sam corrects.

Cas raises his eyebrows.

“That’s a vacation where you don’t go anywhere,” Sam explains. “Though you usually do have wifi.” Another thing he can’t explain to Cas is how it feels right now to not have access. He resists the urge to check his phone again.

“And what do people do on staycations?”

Sam shrugs. Like he knows.

“Get drunk? Play Trivial Pursuit? Have sex?”

“I’ve never played Trivial Pursuit,” says Cas seriously. 

“I was kidding, Cas. The library hasn’t vanished. You’re right, this isn’t a big problem. We can go on working. We’re not losing time.”

Sam tries to stand. Cas grips his good arm with startlingly undiminished strength. 

“No,” he says. “Sam, the books here are full of levers you can pull. I think you need to stop. Just for this interval. Then we can continue.”

Sam opens his mouth to argue, but Cas’s face is adamant. He must know how far Sam has gone, down what roads, since Dean. 

“Well, I’m not playing Trivial Pursuit with you,” says Sam, conceding. “You’re a lot closer to omniscient than me, even on popular culture.” Thanks, Metatron.

Cas seems to accept that.

“Do you have wine?” he asks. As a next choice of options, that could have been more awkward.

“Sure,” says Sam. “There’s a cellar.The Men of Letters were nothing if not pretentious.”

Sam selects at random from a wall of bottles. He doesn’t know shit about wine. But Cas is right, wine’s good for this. Beer and whisky are Dean drinks.

They drink two glasses in moderately comfortable silence. If this is some kind of belated wake, it’s a subdued and somber one. Cas pours them each a third and stifles a cough. He’s been doing that.

“Cas, are you OK?” says Sam. Of course he isn’t, he’s got an internal grace-bleed. 

Cas takes another sip of wine and looks thoughtful. 

“I’ve experienced such declines more than once now, you know, in various forms. There are many things I dislike about the human condition. Coughing is among them. I don’t enjoy dealing with mucus. I resent urination and defecation, for that matter. How do you live whole lives of these petty functions and malfunctions? But there are advantages. I told you once about the taste of peanut butter. And I sleep, sometimes, and dream, and that’s interesting. I’m affected by this wine. And then there’s sex.” 

“Um,” says Sam. He’s not sure he’s up to discussing sex with Cas. Though on the list of topics his brain wants to go to it does rank well above defecation. He swallows what’s left of his wine in a gulp. 

“My experience of this vessel changes,” Cas continues, musingly. Sam guesses it makes sense that Cas would have no particular human inhibitions. “Usually, you know, I’m only sporadically connected to its impulses. Angels have different perceptions, different enactments. But when my grace fades I become more involved. It’s strange how unpredictable desire still is, though. Why here, why now, why this one person I’ve known for some time in largely unerotic contexts?” 

Sam sets his wineglass down carefully on the table. 

“Cas, maybe I’m getting this very wrong, maybe you’re just being, like, hypothetical, but … are you asking if I want to have sex with you? Now?”

Cas looks at Sam with an odd, almost rueful smile. Sam’s heart thuds. 

“You did suggest it was one of the things we could do,” says Cas. “And I am horny.”

_Horny_ in the context of Cas is so unexpected that Sam laughs out loud. He can’t remember the last time he did that. 

But. This is Cas. And Sam and his libido have been on the rocks since even before Gadreel. On the other hand, Sam can still summon every detail of sensation from that first time that Cas shook his hand, even though lots has happened since then. _Lots_. This is Cas.

Sam hadn’t actually been proposing, earlier, that he and Cas have sex, or get drunk or play Trivial Pursuit, for that matter. But some part of Sam’s brain must have known what it was doing. And if Cas was ever going to ask, Sam was always going to say yes. That would be true even without, well, Dean. 

Though loss is present here, like a familiar, an elephant-in-the-room voyeur. That thought draws Sam’s hand to Cas’s face. He curves it against Cas’s cheek, something he’d never have imagined himself doing. Cas turns his head, stubble scraping Sam’s palm, and looks at him gravely.

“Cas,” says Sam, “thank you. I’m not _not_ interested. But I’ve had some issues. I’m not sure that I’d, uh, be up to much.” He gestures at his arm, like that’s the problem. “Were you,” Sam swallows, “did you have anything in mind for us to do? Particularly?”

Cas is now regarding him with such frank assessment that Sam is half daunted and half turned on. Maybe this could work.

“You’re tall and strongly built,” says Cas. “I’ve always presumed you would have an exceptional penis. I’d like you to penetrate me.”

Sam feels himself blush pink. But his dick twitches. Maybe all it needs is a compliment. You hear that, dick? You’ve been presumed exceptional. 

Or maybe Cas is setting himself up for disappointment, even if Sam’s cock can get its act together. Cas probably stood by in heaven while God designed the mighty dicks of, like, Samson and Goliath.

“You might have to do most of the work,” says Sam. “But let me …” He leans over to press his lips to Cas’s. 

It’s not exactly one of the world’s great kisses. But after a while Cas’s fingers reach under Sam’s shirts and start teasing Sam’s nipple. Sam’s lips open and Cas’s tongue moves into his mouth.

“Uh, there’s lube in the bathroom,” Sam says. So yes, they’re apparently doing this. “Dean’s bathroom,” he adds. 

That thought is a twist of pain that somehow goes straight to Sam’s dick, the first jolt of real lust. Not quite Samson or Goliath levels, maybe, but . . . he pulls Cas back down and kisses him till Cas gives an abrupt deep sigh and starts pushing his body against Sam’s, and, yes, Sam is getting hard. 

“I’ll get it,” he says belatedly.

Cas shakes his head. “I’ll go,” he says. 

Cas is gone for a long time. He may have paused in Dean’s bedroom, like Sam does. Probably not going through pictures — angels wouldn’t keep memory in snapshots, and that little boy with his parents outside the old house isn’t Cas’s Dean — but thinking, reflecting.

It’s also possible Cas is inexperienced at identifying lube. 

He does come back with the right thing. That spares Sam deciding whether to tell Cas he’s got it wrong or just go for sex with, like, earwax-softening drops. Sam smiles at that thought and Cas smiles back. He’s still staring with that direct, evaluative want that makes this seem easy, like Sam and Cas and Sam’s dick could be on the same page.

They kneel on the floor, face-to-face, working on each other’s clothes. Cas’s hands are deft and gentle dealing with the sling. As more skin is bared they move closer, exploring.

It’s nice touching someone for their pleasure, not to carve information out of them. Cas must be aware of what else Sam does with his hands these days, yet he’s here. That’s not absolution, but it’s nice. Sam strokes Cas’s dick with his good hand — Cas is naked now, his dick stiff and flushed and human; Sam’s still wearing jeans — and watches Cas’s eyes go dark. It makes Sam’s own breathing uneven. Cas sways towards him, pulls Sam’s hand from his dick to his mouth and bites down on Sam’s palm. He starts to push Sam backwards. 

Sam’s still having trouble connecting to Cas’s hands on him, but it’s like, like Cas’s responses are working for his, as though he’s in Cas more than in Sam. He’s not sure he’s quite hard, but he thinks if he can hold onto this, he can be. 

“Open yourself, Cas,” he says. “I want to watch you.” 

And he does. He wants Cas’s sensations to get hard with. He hands Cas the lube. Cas slicks his fingers and reaches into himself. Sam lies back, lets his eyes go here and there, to Cas’s mouth, teeth catching his lip, to his eyes, his bobbing erection, the shifts and turns of his hips as his fingers stretch and probe. Sam’s on his back with Cas’s knees on either side of him. When Cas draws in breath on a moan and arches back, precome blurting from his dick, Sam undoes his fly and checks. His dick is long and stiff. Sam lets out a breath and pushes his jeans and boxers down. Cas takes his fingers out and blinks, focusing. Sam feels his eyes on him. 

“Is it, uh, OK?” Sam says, and tries to sound like he’s joking.

“Exceptional,” says Cas, deadpan, and he’s definitely making fun of Sam. 

But he’s not faking the huskiness in his voice, or the way his fingers tremble when he reaches to touch. Sam imagines the weight of his dick in Cas’s hand, the drip and tickle of lube in Cas’s hole, and he stays hard. Cas feels up and down Sam’s length and a dark flush sets in his cheeks. Sam’s breath catches. He pulls Cas down for a kiss. Cas bites into Sam’s mouth. Then he straightens, lines up, and sinks down. 

Sam watches Cas as Cas rides him. Cas moves with control, like a dancer, but there’s that red in his cheeks. Every now and then he tosses his head and groans and his fingers clutch at Sam’s chest. Sam wants to help with what Cas is feeling, with what Cas is taking for both of them. He looks for permission, starts to jack Cas with his good hand, stroking his balls. Cas bears down in ragged circles. Suddenly he reaches up and tugs Sam’s hair, so hard that Sam cries out and his hips jerk sharply, without his volition. Cas closes his eyes and arches back. He comes with a deep moan in a splatter of white up his chest.

“I like that feeling,” he announces, a moment later. He lifts himself off of Sam’s dick. 

Sam laughs, relaxed. He’s softening, but it doesn’t matter. The trick worked as long as he needed.

“You enjoy orgasms?” he says. “Kinky, Cas.”

Cas is looking at him. Sam’s heart sinks.

“You didn’t come,” he says.

“I, uh, I told you I’d been having issues,” he says. “It’s fine, Cas.” 

But Cas goes on eyeing him with diagnostic sharpness.

“You responded when I pulled your hair,” he says. “Pain. I could…,” Cas’s hand hovers over Sam’s injured shoulder. 

Cas sees too much.

“No,” Sam says, trying to speak quietly. “I mean, thanks, and you’re … not wrong. But I’d rather not go there right now.” It’s too close to the other things Sam does with his hands. “Really, I’m good.” 

But he’s hurt Cas, or his goddamn nonfunctional dick has. He’s got to do something.

“Here,” Sam says, and guides Cas’s hand to him. Cas’s reactions are choppy and troubled now, no current for Sam to ride, but Sam closes his eyes and gathers concentration, trying to connect to Cas’s fingers on his skin. It doesn’t feel bad. 

After a while Cas’s thumb finds Sam’s balls. He drags his mouth over Sam’s chest, sucking at a nipple. That helps. Sam’s hips move, and he moans. Cas makes a noise — satisfied? impatient? — turns his head and bites hard at Sam’s other nipple. Pain. But surely within normal sex parameters? Sam’s hips jerk arrhythmically, like they’re uncertain. Cas’s tongue swipes over the bite. Sam spills over Cas’s hand. 

Cas drops his head and coughs against Sam’s good shoulder.There’s a long silence. Sam’s skin goose-pimples as his sweat dries. After a while Cas stirs.

“If you didn’t want to do this, you should have told me,” he says.

Sam thinks. He needs to be honest, to try to feel before he speaks.

“I’ve had a lot of really amazing, really bad-idea sex,” he says, at last. “You know, uh, Ruby.” Even these days, when his dick has half-quit on him, he sometimes comes from dreams where her blood is filling his mouth. “What you and me just did was, like, yeah, not perfect, but it wasn’t a bad idea. I think that’s preferable. I think that’s good. I’m glad we did it. Really.”

And he is, though Cas’s humanness nags him with selfish fear. If something happens to Cas now . . . Sam does have a network. There are people he can ask for news, even for help. But Cas is the only one who’s remotely in this with him. If Cas weren’t here then Sam would be alone. 

Cas must be scared, too. Maybe that’s why he’d wanted sex, for comfort. A human reason.

It will be hours before Sam’s inadvertent lockdown ends. He sits up.

“Let’s invent modified Trivial Pursuit,” he says. “I bet we could make it work.”

**Author's Note:**

> The sexual dysfunction is Sam's; the references to torture are to Sam torturing demons.


End file.
